Some things are impossible to escape
by make-mine-a-kiaora
Summary: Inspired by the May Paint it Red challenge, though only written for fun. Different chapters are set at different times and different team member's POVs. All 5 members. Complete. Ch 3 is rated K . Other chapters are angsty and rated T. Reviews always welcome. Disclaimer added: Not mine. No copyright infringement intended. No money made. Corrections made only, no new material.
1. Chapter 1: Van Pelt, season 3, ep 24

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.**

Some things are impossible to escape.

Craig O'Laughlin, my fiancé, the man I was going to marry on Saturday, was working for Red John! And Lisbon, my boss and friend, was down. Shot in the shoulder.

The training kicked in. Facing down the armed and dangerous. My arms locked, steady and unwavering as I sighted down my gun, dimly aware of Hightower beside me. O'Laughlin held my gaze. Calm. Deadly. "It's not your fault, Grace," he began, "I had grown genuinely fond of you." His words floated past me as I matched him breath for breath; minds, hearts and bodies locked together in perfect balance.

A gasp from the corner. A cushion flew into Craig's chest, breaking the stalemate as he reacted. I fired. Once, twice, three times. Hightower matched me bullet for bullet, synchronised as if this was a training exercise on the firing range. When the perp gives you an opening, you take it. Reflex. No consideration. No doubt. Not when lives are at stake. Hightower and I may have neutralised the treat but it was Lisbon, Lisbon who had saved us. Had forced the tipping point.

Craig crumpled to the floor, as his gun fell out of his grasp. Adrenaline drained from me like a sinkhole had opened up. The man I loved, the one I had promised the rest of my life to, lay dying, riddled with bullets. I sank to my knees beside him, reaching for his hand. My heart cried out to comfort him, to hold him as he slipped away, surrounded by my love. My mind was in first aid mode – plug the holes, ease the shock – even though I knew it was pointless. And yet, his rejection burned. My hands fluttered as I reached for his cheek but couldn't do it. Tears had overflowed, dripping from my chin.

Craig's breathing was fast and shallow. I could see the effects of shock from the pain and the ex-sanguination. I was kneeling in his blood as I leaned over him, watching as his levels of consciousness plummeted.

For a moment, Craig rallied. He lifted his hand to my neck and instinctively I leaned into it, surprised when he grabbed the chain of the necklace he'd given me instead. His hand fell back under gravity, taking the broken necklace with it. The gold heart fell away. And O'Laughlin's life went with it. A few more stuttering beats and it was all over. I shook my head, confused. What had he just done? Was it his way of breaking our engagement?

"Van Pelt. Van Pelt." It was Lisbon's voice. "Grace. Look at me."

I looked up to see the boss next to me. Lisbon's body was contorted with the pain from her shoulder and her voice was weak, but the authority was still there.

"Grace. I'm sorry."

Wincing and locking her jaw as movement further disturbed her injury, Lisbon put two fingers to O'Laughlin's carotid pulse, to confirm what she must already know.

"It's over, Grace. He's gone."

I pulled his body into my lap and cradled him, rocking as I howled. Yet, for all the outward release, something deep inside had frozen. The outer layers were still there but the core of me was sealed off. Cauterised. Dead.

* * *

At some point, Lisbon must have dialled 911.

SACPD had arrived in force, along with the paramedics.

Lisbon was fading now. Giving into the agony as the need take charge was relieved from her. But still she looked to me.

"Grace, you're in shock. This is Bob. He's a paramedic. Let him help you."

As Bob reached out to me, I released Craig's body and stumbled to my feet. I let him support me as we weaved our way out to one ambulance, while Lisbon was loaded into the other. Trust the boss to refuse to leave without me.

I guess Hightower must have taken her kids and run. Can't say I blame her.

* * *

The next few hours didn't really register. Being poked and prodded in the hospital. Drugs to take the edge off. As if.

At least they had news about Lisbon now. They'd operated and it had gone well. They said I could go and see her, so here I am at the door to her hospital room. I don't understand though. Where are the guys? Cho and Rigsby should be here. And Jane should be stuck to Lisbon's side.

Lisbon is lying in her bed, propped up on pillows. She looks pale and drawn, like she has no fight left. Fragile. She must have been out of surgery awhile because she's not hooked up to the usual array of monitors. I can't help wondering how much time has really passed while I was out of it.

Lisbon smiles when she sees me but it's weak. Forced.

"Ah, Grace. Come on in."

Her voice is soft and laced with compassion. I've heard it before. It's her telling the family the bad news persona. Why? I mean. I know Craig is dead. I shot him.

I drag the plastic chair to her bedside and sit down, with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

"Okay…. What is it boss?"

Lisbon sighs and then steals herself.

"So, as you know, O'Laughlin is dead."

I nod, clenching my hands into fists. "And Hightower?"

"In the wind. With her kids. I assume she's doing OK…."

Well, that's a relief. I would hate for anything to happen to Mimi or her brother or her Mum.

"But, there were more deaths. Van Pelt, I have to ask you…. The SACPD who were guarding the gates. Were they OK when you and O'Laughlin arrived?"

"Of course," I reply. "I had a few words with them before they let us in."

But…. Oh God. No. "Craig, O'Laughlin, he went back for his phone. Before we reached the house."

The full extent of the bastard's betrayal opens up for me like a rift valley.

He wheedled his way in with me to spy on the team. We were guarding Hightower and I betrayed her and her family by bringing him with me. Red John's man. Then he murders the guards for his master and would have killed Hightower, her kids, Lisbon and I, if Lisbon hadn't reacted so quickly. The phone call she took. I bet it was from Jane.

But, this is serious. Not only did I fall in love with a con artist, I compromised my team and their safety and through my actions the operation fell apart. And then there are the guards. Two lovely men on a routine stake out, executed by the bastard I let in. Their blood is on my hands. Their blood and the suffering of those who mourn them.

I'm not fit to be a cop. I'm not fit to be anything.

I… I just can't process…. And guilt!

Lisbon has grasped my hand. Her injury is my fault too. And she could be dead.

"Van Pelt. Grace. Stay with me. Please."

She pauses for a few moments.

"I know that it is a lot to take in. That it's overwhelming. But you are not responsible for what that bastard did. Tell me you know that."

I nod. But who am I kidding?

"Van Pelt, I hate to say this, but there's more."

For the first time ever, Lisbon looks like she may cry. Now I find that it's me who is gripping her arm.

"I guess you noticed that Cho and Rigsby aren't here." She doesn't wait for confirmation. "That's because they're busy with the mess in Sacramento." She stops, inhales deeply, and then pushes on with determination. "Jane's in prison. He shot a man dead in a food court. Rumour has it that the DA's out for murder one."

Hell, I hadn't seen that coming.

"Red John?"

"Red John".

I don't know how long we just sit there.

* * *

A knock on the door. Abrupt.

Cho steps inside.

"Boss. Van Pelt." He looks at each of us in turn, game face in place.

Lisbon shifts again, looking at me.

"Van Pelt, I want you to collect your things and your paperwork and meet us back here. Cho is going to take you home. Is there anyone who can stay with you tonight?"

'"M'fine" I mutter as I slink from the room. I can hear Cho's succinct reply.

"I talked with her room-mate. She won't be alone. And what about you?"

I don't hear anymore. I'm sure boss gave him the brush off though.

I collect my things, paste on a smile for Lisbon and then follow Cho to the car. Belting up, I stare out of the window, noting the date on his discarded newspaper. What a way to spend your wedding day!


	2. Chapter 2: Rigsby, during season 4

Some things are impossible to escape.

Pulling into his space in the CBI lot, Rigsby folded his arms on the steering wheel and rested his forehead against them. He sighed deeply. Then sighed again.

That had been… Had been… Well. Horrific. Yes. Horrific. The only word for it.

He didn't know how Sarah could do it.

When she asked him to ante-natal class, he'd thought… Well, no, he hadn't thought about it. Hadn't wanted to. They were having a baby. OK. OK, not planned as such, but he could, he could deal with that. And with the whole pregnancy and birth thing. He could. Well, he hoped he could. I mean, people did it all the time, right? And not just one. Many went back for 2 or 3 or even 4 or more goes. How bad could it be?

The pregnancy part he could handle. It was going OK. He made sure to be there, gave his partner everything she wanted and then made himself scarce when the moods kicked in. And Sarah didn't want much. She liked to handle things on her own. She certainly hadn't let him fuss over her when the morning sickness struck. Nosirree. He wasn't welcome to do that.

But it was now clear that she expected him to be at the birth. And that was cool. That's what Dad's did these days. But….

If he'd learned one thing today, it was that giving birth must hurt like hell. From that video, the only conclusion he could draw was that Sarah was in for hours and hours of agony, even before the baby decided to crown. Then, when she was exhausted by the labour and the pain, she had to force the thing out of her body, even if it ripped her in two. How anyone let themselves be filmed like that was beyond him, but apparently that was natural childbirth. The real deal experience.

Wayne was no stranger to pain. He'd been extensively burned and shot. He was well aware of how he'd needed the kick-ass painkillers. And Sarah was proposing to go through the whole horrendous birth experience with the mimimum of pharmaceutical intervention. Crazy did not start to cover it!

And he was meant to stay at her side throughout, hold her hand and watch her suffer. Knowing he put her in this position. Unable to do anything to really make a difference. He didn't know who he was going to hate more. Himself for knocking her up or the baby for clawing its way out like something from Alien.

No wonder he was stressed. He needed to get her to accept the drugs or the whole thing would do him in, let alone her.

And time was flying by so quickly. The bump was growing day by day and weekends off were now spent on the nursery and baby shopping. It would be sneaking up on them. He knew that. And after. Well, what did babies do? They screamed, fed and filled nappies. Having no close relatives or married friends, he'd escaped the whole pass the human parcel thing, or exited to the pub if it became too likely.

He better get a book and start reading because this was happening. It was inescapable. And his only choice was to cope or to not cope with it all. And not coping was not an option.

And he would do better by both Sarah and the baby than his father had ever done by him. He would make damn sure of that.

He had to.


	3. Chapter 3: Cho, season 1, ep 9

**A/N Set at the end of series 1 episode 9 – Flame red.**

Some things are impossible to escape.

And you don't need to be a detective to see it. Unless you're Rigsby, of course. If it doesn't involve food, he's oblivious.

And a pretty perfect mark.

"Bet you 20 that Jane's gonna be back on the case tomorrow."

"What? No. He's suspended."

"Yeah, by Lisbon."

"He almost got a man killed. Reckoned he was the 'tethered goat' and that it didn't matter if he burned to death. And then got trapped in the blaze himself. You heard her yelling at him. I mean, there's got to be consequences, right?"

"Right. But he'll be back."

"Van Pelt?"

"I agree with Cho. Jane's scheme backfired a bit but no-one got hurt in the end. I think she's mad cause he could have died. You know how protective she is."

"Protective, and then some."

All 3 agents could agree on that.

"Yeah. And Jane is more than a co-worker to her." Cho put it out there and let it hang.

"Lovers? No fricking way." Rigsby spluttered, almost choking on his coffee.

"Nah. Least not yet. But they are friends. And close."

"I agree." Van Pelt waded in, "You can see how they are together. He's always baiting her but somehow never ends up with a lethal injury. And they scrap like littermates.

Besides this new one we've caught is a beast. And Bertram's all over her cause of the Mayor. You know how he makes things difficult. He'll not accept Jane not being here."

"Yep."

"And if Jane's not allowed in the building then he hasn't really anywhere to go. You're right Cho, he'll pull strings. He'll be back here by morning. I know it."

"Nah. I can't see it. Suspension is suspension, right. He can't walk straight back in. It'd be a mockery.  
I'll take the bet."

"Done."

"You're a fool."

* * *

An hour later, Jane strolls into the bullpen, china cup in hand.

"Hey guys, did you miss me?"

Rigsby groans as he fishes out his wallet. The barest flicker of a smile crosses Cho's face.

Van Pelt bites her lower lip as she tries to damp down her laughter. "We told ya."

Jane shakes his head. "Not again, Rigsby. Not again."


	4. Chapter 4: Jane: season 4, ep 15

**Set towards the end of series 4 ep 15 – War of the Roses. **

**Angsty, rated T**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, no definitely not mine. No copyright infringement intended.**

Some things are impossible to escape, no matter how hard you try.

The past few years, Patrick Jane had been a new man. Eschewing the limelight that he craved. The status and respect he had once enjoyed as a newly minted celebrity, on the up with every new opportunity and each TV appearance and stage show.

And the opportunities had been coming thick and fast.

He'd relished it. He was born to be a somebody. Never a follower or a face in the crowd.

It had been everything he'd ever wanted.

The anticipation as he was welcomed at the stage door and began his careful preparation. Perfect, shiny suit. Manicured hair and nails. Calm and confidence worn like ermine robes. And the lure of the con. Connecting with 1000 strangers in a theatre or millions on the air. Making each one accept him, defer to him, even love him. He'd always known well that if you break down their defences, you can sell them anything. They'll never see it coming.

And besides, he did some good, right. Hope was hope, at any price, and the higher the price, the more precious it was. And if they chose to give him adulation as well then hell, who was he to knock it.

Yes. Life had been good. His career poised for vertical take-off, money accumulating like a butter mountain and the real and deep love of the only two people he valued in the whole world. His beautiful wife, Angela, and his young daughter, Charlotte. It was a matter of deep personal pride that Charlotte would never go hungry as he had so often growing up, or want for anything. She would have the best education and all the privileges that money could buy.

* * *

And then, of course, he'd ruined it all. His arrogance and hubris led him to make the worst mistake possible. Something which a less self-absorbed man would never have been stupid enough to do, no matter what their level of intelligence. For hell, was it stupid!

He taunted a serial killer on air. His wife and daughter paid the price. The sight of their mutilated bodies first drove him crazy. Now, fuelling his need to destroy the man who destroyed them, it was the wallpaper in his mind. Always there. Always reproaching.

In the early days, he had considered suicide. Not because he had any belief in being re-united with his family, but as his punishment. Their lives were gone. Their dreams and ambitions were destroyed. His should be too. He'd come very close, which led to finding himself under the care of Dr Sophie Miller.

Sophie had given him his life back, though not in the way she'd intended. Indeed, it would horrify her to see the truth. Jane's punishment was not the end to sorrow, guilt and grief that he expected death to grant. It was living. Carrying on day by day and shouldering the responsibility for his crimes and his losses. Giving his life in atonement by avenging his wife and child's deaths at any cost.

And along the road in his hunt for Red John, he found his way into the Serious Crimes Unit and the CBI, and the stewardship of one Agent Teresa Lisbon. She had shown him that his skills still had a use. Catching murders so that their loved ones could find as much closure as was possible and the criminal couldn't kill anyone else. And he knew firsthand how important that was. So he stayed. And did what he could alongside his hunt for Red John. He didn't need money, recognition or thanks. Just a warm couch and his beloved tea, and the sense of doing something. He may not strictly be a team player now but he was darned close and he knew Lisbon never realised just how much he submitted to her handling. She'd made him into a half-decent human being.

* * *

One thing he had told himself he could never again be, was the man who got his family killed. Yes, he was still a con-artist. After all, that was his main skill set. But he detested the empty glamour and charismatic persona he had once lived by. And if it was conning the lowest of the low – the murders, kidnappers, fake psychics and rapists – that was OK. Well, that and poker. Gambling was fair game and he would never be a saint. But, whilst he would occasionally use the power of television to help crack the case, or reluctantly do a turn at the CBI fundraiser, he would not go back to the fame-addled creature he once was.

So, that's what made this so dangerous. Erica Flynn was a beautiful woman and a first rate seductress. Even he, who could see every aspect of the manipulation, and the tools she employed, wasn't totally immune. His ego was flattered that she might want him. And the flattery was as much her recognition of him as an equally accomplished con and a challenge, as it was a male reaction to the attentions of a highly attractive female. And there was also the "honour amongst thieves" as Lisbon would call it. He had no qualms getting Erica arrested for murder but, for lesser games, he wouldn't take the high road. Hell, it would be hypocritical to say the least.

So here they were, backstage at the charity fundraiser and rehearsing their show. The slight of hand carried out by the beautiful assistant in the double act. All done with the aim of catching a killer, of course. But it was dangerous. The anticipation. The chance to mesmerise and awe. The skilfully played deception. He was remembering this. And it was addictive. Flirting with Erica, holding hands and trading kisses. It was all part of himself. The heartless con he used to be. And boy, it didn't feel just good. It was intense, exhilarating. Joyous.

He should have known better when he chose Erica over all Lisbon's reservations. When he wanted to keep his dear friend away from the action. And he definitely should have stopped before he tortured the lover – even if he was an unfaithful lover – on stage. The man was broken.

* * *

As Jane sipped his tea in the darkening attic, looking out through the thick twilight on the lights of Sacramento, he felt shamed. Shamed by the way in which he led Erica get to him. By the kisses he'd traded with her and the response in his body to her blatant sexual provocation. Sex was off-limits for him – devaluing his memories and what he owed to his wife – and yet she'd come so close to cracking him. And he was ashamed for what he had done. How he had handled himself during the investigation. And the way in which his ego had swelled even more than certain parts of his anatomy. And how he had let the seed of empathy that Lisbon nurtured in him shrivel. Fried by the spotlights and his need to manipulate, control and wow. It wasn't even lust. Not wholly. It was power. And greed.

He really wished that he could close his eyes and not see the look on the poor guy's face when he saw the pendant. When he broke down in front of all his peers, not just giving witness to his own infidelity but to the fact that he had loved the victim deeply. Even if his wife didn't find out, there was no way the marriage would survive now. And this was a man who's world had just ended. Not just another mark.

He didn't blame Erica for escaping. He hadn't helped her but he had chosen not to stop her either. Professional courtesy and all that. But he was glad that she'd gone. Finding that man inside himself had been like a line of cocaine to a junkie who'd been clean for 9 years. Good while it lasted but leaving one hell of a downer behind. And an awful lot of work undone.

And if all that weren't enough, he'd hurt and disappointed Lisbon. He hadn't even given her a straight answer when she sought him out.

It was going to be a long night alone with his demons. Just what he deserved.

_A/N I'd really appreciate your thoughts as to whether this chapter worked or it was too exposition-y, if that's OK?_


	5. Chapter 5: Lisbon, season 4, ep 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Rated T: angsty. Set during Blinking Red Light and a subsequent episode.**

_**Thank you to everyone who has read the story and to the person who favourited it. I appreciate it.**_

* * *

Some things are impossible to escape.

Patrick Jane was her best friend and the man she cared for and trusted above all others. Yes, he would play her and con her and drive her mad. But when everything went to hell in a basket, he would be there. He knew her better than anyone and accepted her unconditionally. At least if it didn't involve Red John.

And Jane had shot a man. At close range. Gunned him down, in the middle of a crowded mall. The man he believed was Red John. Acquitted at trial because he won the jury over and they sympathised.

She had been horrified when, returning to the CBI as a free man, he told her of his doubts. His new conviction that Timothy Carter was not Red John. She'd assumed it was the stress playing on his mind and making him irrational. She never thought it could be true. Did her best to prove to him otherwise. Even after Sally Carter and the whole security guy dead in the bath-tub, she still maintained her shields, if only on the inside.

But now, waiting at a cold, lonely crime scene at 2am, she was forced to reconsider.

Not only was it the mode of death, the characteristic cutting pattern, and the prominent smiley face which greeted them. It was also Jane's behaviour. Five hours ago, he was on the TV, debating with Panzer on the Karen Cross show. Five hours ago, he detached – she knew, she'd watched the footage – for a few moments before bringing Red John into the conversation. A conversation which had not been going his way. He'd skilfully played out the line as Panzer harpooned himself on his own arrogance and pride. At 9.10pm, James Panzer insulted Red John on air. At 1.37am, his body was found. The coroner estimated that he'd been dead perhaps an hour. Was it her imagination, or did the prominent smiley face look even more gleeful than she'd remembered.

Perhaps it was Red John. Perhaps a disciple. But the swiftness and efficiency with which vengeance had been served suggested the former.

When O'Laughlin had shot her in the shoulder, and betrayed van Pelt so brutally, it was OK because they had got Red John. When Jane walked free, blood had flowed back into her heart for the first time in months. They had got Red John. And once the team was re-assembled and fully operative once more, they had got through all the difficulties and dark times because hey, at some level, it was worth it. They had brought down Red John!

And now... They hadn't. It was all for nothing.

* * *

Three weeks later, Lisbon stood with Jane by an open graveside listening to Terri Maier reading out her husband's suicide note. As Terri broke down, she handed the letter to Jane to continue. Lisbon listened to the words which iced her blood like a Mid-west winter.

'Killing the man who murdered our daughter is the best thing I will ever do.

I'm at peace now.

My only regret is that I'm leaving you alone.'

Lisbon didn't miss the significant look Jane levelled at her as he finished reading and folded the paper, returning it to the widow. Whilst Tom Maier definitely took his own life, she'd bet the entire departmental budget that Jane wrote the apparent note. And that what she'd just heard was the epitath that Jane expected her to remember at his own funeral. Whether he died at Red John's hands, cut down by the police for resisting arrest, or at the hands of the courts and their sentence, the only conclusion was that he expected to die and he didn't care. That letter was the nearest thing to an apology or explanation that she would ever get.

As she bowed her head and turned, walking away from the service, Lisbon's eyes fell on the one person beyond all others that she didn't want to see. Susan Darcy. After exchanging a few professional pleasantries, Lisbon turned towards her car, as Jane followed. She caught the parting exchange:

'Hunting monsters changes you.'

'Did it change you, Patrick?'

'Of course'

Lisbon could hardly speak for the horror and disappointment and grief swirling inside her. Had it changed him? In some ways, yes. Killing a man and facing a possible death penalty hadn't made him recant. It had only strengthened his resolve and torn down some more of the boundaries on acceptable behaviour. He'd set Panzer up with full awareness and no remorse. The old Jane wasn't that cold.

For the first time in several months, Lisbon was scared. Really scared.

But she knew, as she'd long known, that she wouldn't abandon him now. She would stand side by side with him every step of the way, until he finally forced her to choose between a murderer or the law and in her own jurisdiction. If that day came, she would arrest him, as she'd promised.

She'd learned as a child that the world can flip in an instant. And she worked with it every day. Finding justice for those who could no longer help themselves, informing families that their world was no more. Life was to be lived day by day. The ones you care for, appreciated each and every moment. Any more than that was an illusion.

She would walk with Jane, day by day, just like always. And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

_A/N This story is now complete. I would really appreciate any comments or feedback you have. I'm not a very experienced writer and am keen to learn. Especially your general impression and whether there's anything that you particularly liked or disliked. If you would like to, please leave a review._


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